
Class !H__S_-i4-i 
Book J4ai 

Gopyrightl^^ 



CORTRIGHT DEPOSE 



Pipes and Timbrels 



BY 



W. J. HENDERSON 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 

1905 



Copyright 1905 by W. J. Henderson 
All Rights Reserved 



LIBRARY of OONeR£SS 
(wo CoD<es KecMvea 

MAR 10 iy05 
Oopynent entry 

ttOPt ts. 



"PS n ^ '\ 

, H377 



Printed at 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

Boston, U. S. A. 



TO JULIA 

I bring my sheaf of song 

And lay it at your feet ; 
The harvest waited long, 

But oh, the time is sweet. 

And if the songs be true, 

Your heart will read them right; 
For they have stayed for you 

To make the darkness light. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Tantalus g 

Pictures 

Eve 19 

The Wandering Jew 20 

Dore's Solomon 21 

Gettysburg 22 

On the Death of a Student 23 

September 24 

A December Night 25 

At The Year's End 

To H. C. Bunner 29 

A Christmas Hj'mn 30 

A Song of New Year's Eve 34 

Music 

An Overture 39 

Mozart 41 

Schubert 42 

In The Gallery 43 

The Seventh Symphony 44 

Rhinegold 46 

Psyche 

Amor Triumphator 49 

Silences 51 

Love's Harmony 52 

Love's Silence 53 

A Song in October 54 

From Afar 55 

Sleeping 56 

By The Sea Shore 56 

Love that Liveth 57 

Ultima Thule 57 

Old Love 58 



Page 

A Ballad of Constancy 60 

To Her in the Country 62 

A Spring Song 63 

Carpe Diem 64 

A Ballad of Night 65 

Roses 66 

Divination 66 

Dreams and Fancies 

In Chains 69 

Aspiration 69 

The Gate of Sleep 70 

Before Dawn 71 

To Robert Louis Stevenson 72 

To a Clover Blossom 73 

Morning 73 

In the Mountains 74 

Sick in the Spring 74 

Grant 75 

A Poet's Last Book 76 

Tennyson 76 

On Some Forgotten Poems 77 

A Wish 78 

For a Class Reunion 78 

The Sea 

A Song of the Sea 81 

Sea Melodies 82 

Thalassa 83 

A Sea Song of Old Time 84 

In Lighter Mood 

To Pyrrha 89 

Central Park in Summer 90 

On a Hymn Book 91 

Palmistry 93 

To a Book and a Maid 94 

Good Robin Spring 95 



PIPES AND TIMBRELS 



TANTALUS 

Where the fell flood of Lethe darkly rolled 
Between black-browed and sombre-visaged walls, 
With sinuous wave and sluggish-moving tide 
And murmurs like the faint and weary groans 
Of souls long stricken by the pain of hell, 
One, cursed by all the Olympian gods at once, 
Stood neck-deep in the stream, yet could not drink. 
Sometimes he raved and shook the rocks around 
With words so wild that Hades heard in awe. 
Anon the majesty of regal thought 
Arose and ruled within his fevered soul ; 
And thus he spake in commune with himself: 

"Ye, stars, that naked in j'on sea of blue 
Float on for ever through harmonious space, 
Lighting the dim half world to which the moon 
Shall come not till the month be full of joy; 
Ye winds that kiss the ocean's rugged lips, 
And make them breathe of music and of sleep, 
What hope hath man in life or yet in death, 
If nothing slumbers in the silent grave 
That shall not wake again to strife and pain ? 
Oh, many-shadowed dell where I was born, 
Beside the murmur of the silver waves 
Of tremulous Egean, where the streams 
Of many brooks fell down the grassy slope 
And shivered into spray upon the strand. 
Hast thou forgot me? Spirits of earth and air, 
Is hope then dead, and is there naught in all 
This nether world but hot and seething thirst?" 

And lo! there came a faint and distant strain 
Of sweetest music, like the whispered voice 
Of muted strings, rapt to their highest tones. 
Borne up on broken chords of throbbing harps; 
And a dim, strange light, like an unreal dawn. 
Broke slow across his vision. Strong it grew 



Until it glowed like matin skies of gold ; 
And a fine perfume stole across the air, 
And lulled his throbbing senses from their woe. 
Then from the vista of supernal light 
Grew out a form of wondrous loveliness, 
And a voice spake along the shadowy gulf. 

"Lo! I am she that ruled the great round world 
Before thou wert or ever man was born 
Of heaven's eternal fire; sprung from the foam 
Of everlasting seas, and marked by Zeus 
To be alike man's misery and hope. 
Tantalus, look round thee. In these shades, 
Condemned by wrath of gods and curse of fate. 
Thou lingerest alone 'mid dancing waves, 
Consumed by a never-dying thirst." 

"Nay, speak it not," he cried with husky throat. 

"But, hear me out," she said; "I bring to thee 
That for which men have bled and nations died." 

A wild light sprang into his fevered eye. 
And high above his head he tossed his hands : 

"Great gods, that dwell in far Olympian heights. 
At last my sufferings have reached your souls; 
I thank ye. Goddess, speak, I wait thy words." 

"Nay, think not of the gods," she said, "for they 
Are deaf to thee ; but I have heard thy moan. 
Now, Tantalus, behold me: am I fair?" 

"Fair as the gleam of dawn on Ida's brow, 
What time the sunlight wakes the sleeping streams. 
And bids them forth to laughter and to song." 

"Me it hath pleased," she said, "to look on thee 
With pity. 'Neath this fair and spotless front 

lO 



There glows a passion deeper than this pit. 
Stretch forth thine arms, lift up thy burning eyes, 
Drink deep of love, and all thy pain forget." 

"To drink of love? Ah, what care I for love — 
I that am doomed with this eternal curse ? 
Give me but water: I will bless thy name." 

"What hope shall come when love is cold and dead?" 

So Venus spake in music such as wind 

Doth make among the grass and summer flowers. 

"What profits life without the simple faith 

Of souls made one in perfect sympathy? 

We two shall be as gods girt round with light, 

And the strong fire of hearts that flame with love." 

"Goddess, the soul within me craveth naught; 
I tell thee this, though speech be grievous pain: 
Had I no tongue to say I want not love, 
I had no tongue to burn for want of drink." 

Then Venus leaned a little space across 
The dark and bitter flood, and on his brow 
Her breath blew hot and cold, and cold and hot. 

"Yet think, ah, think," she said, "of dear desires. 
Of rapturous hours and dajs of endless dreams. 
Amid the languorous shadows of the woods, 
Where strong grey trunks majestically rise 
To bear on high their canopy of green, 
Where wooing winds breathe out their amorous sighs 
Among the trembling crannies of the leaves. 
And all the air is heavy with the flowers ; 
There, as thou liest half entranced by sleep, 
I'll come to thee — I, beautiful as light — 
With eager eyes, with sweet and hungry lips. 
To sting thy face with kisses keen as fire, 



II 



To clasp thee in these fair and roundest arms, 

Upon this bosom white as untrod snow, 

But warmer than dear Cyprus' summer sun. 

Thee shall I circle round with yearning love 

Till all thy senses reel as if in wine, 

And the last ecstatic throbbings of thy breath 

Die out in whispers amorous as mine ; 

Wilt thou, my Tantalus, not love me now?" 

"And in these woods," he said, "shall there be brooks 

That ripple over stones in lucent waves. 

And dew upon the petals of the flowers, 

And rain that droppeth from the trembling leaves?" 

"Forget thy curse," she said, "and think of love." 

"Forget my curse!" he cried. "Goddess, look round: 

Long years have fled into the buried past 

Since I, a man, gazed into woman's eyes 

And dreamed the empty dreams of youth and love. 

I do remember them so faintly now 

I think it must have been some other fool 

Who was so fond among the flowers and wine. 

Thou art immortal, Goddess, like myself; 

But thy existence is for ever bright: 

To thee it is no bitter curse to breathe. 

Think,then, of what a fate is given me. 

Shut in this pit in darkness and in gloom, 

I listen ever to the hideous wails 

Of all whom Jove has doomed to punishment. 

Their sobs and moans assail my helpless cars 

From night till day, from day till blacker night. 

The foulest odours of the grewsome pit 

Offend my nostrils, and the ceaseless gloom 

Confounds my eyes with stark and horrid shapes. 

Damp icy vapours float about my head, 

And clammy hands of spectral forms unseen 

Fall on my flesh and cause my bones to chill. 



12 



But, ah, within I have a ceaseless fire 

That burns the very blood up in my heart, 

And makes each nerve within my stricken frame 

Throb with the white heat of black Vulcan's forge. 

And, mark you, this shall never, never end ; 

But through the tireless cycles of the years 

My doom shall follow me without a pause — 

This doom that links the future with the past. 

For see, my curse is doubled in this wise : 

I look back from this fetid tomb of joy 

Into the fair, sweet past of earthly life, 

To see friends, brothers, sisters, mother, all 

Standing with outstretched hands upon the shores 

Of those dear waters that still kiss our Greece, 

And bear her purple argosies afar ; 

To hear the echo of the clang of arms, 

The ring of spears, and thunderous shock of shields, 

And the great shouts of victory that smote 

The everlasting skies, and bade the stars 

To tremble in their orbits: and to know 

That these are past — irrevocably past. 

While all the future reaches out its arms 

To grapple me in long embrace of pain, 

Of agony that speech could never tell, 

Had I a tongue within my mouth to speak. 

And not this crusted, smouldering lava stream. 

The past, the dead, dear past comes wandering back 

To torture me with dreams of happy days. 

The future, that shall never end, rolls on. 

Each minute orbed into a bursting hour. 

Each hour distended to a throbbing year — 

Time but a drop in hell's eternity — 

No thought that is not darker than despair. 

No hope but that to-morrow's stricken womb 

Will breed a sorrow greater than to-day's ; 

Cursed beyond cursing, doomed beyond black death, 

Alone in Hades with this endless thirst." 



13 



He paused, sore shaken by the storm of grief, 
And for a little space was silent; then 
He said: 

"If thou hast come to me in faith 
To pour the balm of pity on my soul, 
Give me one draught of water — only one — 
That this eternity of bitter pain 
May cease a moment its relentless flight." 

Then Venus sighed a long and quivering sigh 
That shook her round, white bosom like the snow 
Blown by the northern wind, and then she said : 

"So be it. One pure draught shalt thou now have 
Of water sweet as from Castalia's spring." 

Afar from out the thick and silent gloom 
There grew the form of one who bore an urn. 
He glided to her side and placed it there. 
And vanished. Venus lifted high the bowl, 
And stretching it to Tantalus, said: 

"Drink." 

Then for a moment, as he quaffed the cup. 

The sounds of Hades died upon his ear. 

The world and life lay captive at his feet — 

Life throbbing with the pulse it knew in youth, 

The world aflame with joy too great to be. 

'T was done, 't was past. He tossed aside the bowl, 

And turning once again his fevered eyes 

Upon the goddess, saw what pain before 

Had hidden from his blind and tortured soul — 

That beauty which had swayed Olympian gods. 

Grief gone a moment from his helpless life. 

Love entered in, and thus he swiftly spake : 

"Venus, forgive, forgive. I knew thee not; 
For thou art something greater than a god — 
A woman full of pity and of love. 

14 



Hear me, sweet goddess, hear me once for all : 
I love thee — dost thou wonder? Yes, I love. 
Thou earnest here with passion in thy heart ; 
Thy fire has touched me, and now I am thine." 

But Venus rose and sighed again that sigh 
That sounded like the parting breath of life. 
And smiled a smile so full of hidden tears 
That Tantalus was stricken. Then he cried : 

"Sweet Venus, still thy pity now I crave. 
Ah, leave me not alone in sightless gloom. 
My curse the sorer for that one sweet draught. 
My soul the darker for one gleam of hope." 

Then Venus sighed once more, and tremulous. 
With one fair arm soft whitening through the dark. 
She spoke in accents sadder than his own : 

"Nay, love shall live where nothing else can be. 
No meaner want can tarry in the soul 
When love proclaims himself the god of all ; 
Love's monarchy is absolute, his sway 
Triumphant as the kingdom of the sun. 
Farewell, thou hast thy choice, thou hast thy way; 
Love lingers not for him who clasps it not. 
When first the bosom throbs with that dear thrill 
Which speaks the perfect sympathy of two 
That all the gods have willed to be as one. 
There is no room in all the big, round world 
For aught to be that is as great as love ; 
For love shall live where nothing else can be. 
Thou hadst thy choice. Now, Tantalus, farewell." 



IS 



PICTURES 



EVE 

Lone in the sunrise of primeval day, 

More lovely than the virgin world around, 
With fingers pressed on lips that made no sound, 
She stood and gazed. Spread out before her lay 

The future — and the clouds were rolled away. 
The war of kings in empires still unfound, 
The crash of cannon that should yet resound, 
She heard, and saw the great world rock and sway. 

Across the crimson sky above her head 
There came a cry of children asking food ; 
A wail of women for the nation's dead 

Went upward to the stars. So pale she stood ; 
Then to some secret place in Eden fled. 
And wept in presage of her motherhood. 



19 



THE WANDERING JEW 

Amid the thunder of creation's fall, 

With fire and rain and hail across the sky, 
One stood alone with fearless, upturn'ed eye, 

And aspect that no horror could appall. 

In all that wreck of matter, proud and tall 
As one who scorned for grace or aid to cry, 
He waited moveless, as if asking why 

There came for him no pealing trumpet call. 

Last of his race and of the sons of men, 
He stood devoid of tremor or of fear. 

And stretched his hands out to the sky and then 
He spake in accents bold and strangely clear: 

"Thou bad'st me, 'Tarry till I come again ;' 

Behold, Messiah, I am waiting here." 



20 



DORE'S SOLOMON 

Oh, face immutable as that girt sea 

By which thou reignedest, what unspoken wise 
And secret law is graven in thine eyes 

And in thine aspect's brooding majesty? 

Wert thou but man, or was there more in thee 
Of spiritual might and wide emprise 
Than shall be circled by our narrow skies, 

But must find issue in eternity? 

Aye, rather let us look upon thee so, 

As one who was not shackled by our law 
Of life, nor bowed by any earthly rod ; 

For all who gaze upon that face shall know 
That not alone in thee Judea saw 

The crown of kingcraft, but the type of God. 



21 



GETTYSBURG 

There are no dead upon this silent plain, 
Where burst the cohorts of embattled hell 
In war's red noon with thunderbolts of shell ; 

The charge of Death across yon field was vain. 

Still as the Summer on the sleeping main 

Lie wood and wold, and where the tempest fell 
Stands many a stone to say that it was well. 

And nevermore or North or South shall reign. 

Aye, here there is no shadow of the grave. 
No shroud of pale oblivion, no tear. 
Nor coffin'd past ; nor shall there ever be. 

For death is not the guerdon of the brave, 

Who conquered death and set their feet on fear; 
Upon this plain dwells Immortality. 



22 



ON THE DEATH OF A STUDENT 

A great mind labors through the fleeting years, 
Delving beneath the shadows dark and gray, 
Where spiritual treasures hide away 

In books that have been writ in blood and tears. 

Harassed by doubts and circled round by fears. 
Itself the mind illumines day by day 
With truths which make it mightier alway, 

Until at last it dies and disappears. 

Then to the secret soul of every book 

Goes back alone each dearly garnered thought; 

Unto the dark and silent study's nook 

Returns the lore with which that brain was fraught 

He who would win it must go there to look : 

The dead mind's store has fled, and left us naught. 



23 



SEPTEMBER 

A reefed mainsail hard against the sky, 

Gray against gray, and gray the sea below; 

A wide swing of topmast lean and high, 
Afar yonder where the swart clouds go. 

Here at my feet the chill and leaden surge 
Booms and bursts in sullen shoots of spray ; 

The hollow thunders lift a weary dirge 
Across the sands through all the empty day. 

Behind me shrinks the dull and yellow land. 
Where peals the wind among the bending trees ; 

The red kine restless in the meadow stand. 
And trembling at the mutter of the seas. 

The sun slips pale adown the brazen west, 
Faint in his power and fainter yet his glow ; 

Lo, yonder where the mallard's mottled breast 
Goes cleaving southward. I arise and go. 



24 



A DECEMBER NIGHT 

The steel blue Vega slopes adown the west, 

Beyond the ghostly hills and shadowed stream, 

Downward to unfathomable rest, 

Sweeter than silence, dearer than a dream. 

The armed Perseus follows in her train 
Hard by Andromeda, whose cohorts glide. 

Like solemn music through a cloistered fane, 
Adown the west with the celestial bride. 

O'erhead roll Taurus and the Pleiad band 
Along the hollows of the heavenly deep; 

Orion follows with his flaming brand, 

That smites the curtain of the eye to sleep. 

So moves the shining army of the night 
Across the front of space, serene, profound. 

Till Sirius floods the east with master light, 
And lo ! the king of all the stars is crowned. 



25 



AT THE YEAR'S END 



TO H. C BUNNER 

Clasp hands, singer and seer and brother , 

And laugh at Time as Love alone shall laugh; 

Clasp hands, thou and I and no other. 

And drink once as brothers alone should quaff. 

Clasp hands, for Time and Love are fairer 
Than e'er we dreamed these many years ago ; 

Drink once, though those we trust are rarer. 
And some good has lived we did not know. 

Clasp hands for all the wine and roses, 
Wound round the fever of life's brow; 

Drink once, though every day discloses 
Sins deeper than all that we know now. 

Clasp hands for swift and silent pleasures, 

Sown broad across the field of life; 
Drink once for all the untrod measures 

Of voiceless pain and unavailing strife. 

Clasp hands for all that we look down on, 
From out the present to the fruitful past; 

Drink once, though men may darkly frown on 
Some things that we hold dear and fast. 

Clasp hands for songs that still are ringing 
Across the plains of all the purple deep; 

Drink once for dreams that still are winging 

Deathless flights through all the realms of sleep. 

Clasp hands for our two lives together 
In wind or rain, in fire or hail or snow; 

Drink once for sweet or bitter weather. 
Singer and seer and brother that I know. 

(1886) 

29 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN 

Now across the purple ocean falls a new light from 

afar, 
While the silver host of heaven pales before a single 

star. 

Back across the trackless billows, past their furthest 

fringed rim, 
Shrink the shades of superstition; and for that, oh 

God, we hymn. 

Dead the old unhallowed dogmas, dead the round 

and hollow creeds; 
Sprung to life the light of freedom — thought that 

equals human needs. 

Lo, a babe within the cradle! Lo, a man beside the 
tomb! 

Lo, a world yet in its childhood weeping o'er a fan- 
cied gloom. 

Stood the valleys, plains, and mountains firm and 

moveless evermore; 
Man and thought were gliding by as ship and sailor 

pass the shore. 

Oh, the sin that comes with cycles! Oh, the hate 

that comes with years! 
Oh, the laden ships of sorrow, and the many streams 

of tears! 



30 



So the man went moaning onward, wandering 

weary, blind and weak; 
But the sun and stars and mountains never parted 

lips to speak. 

Till behold ! the giant Science, rising in primeval 

might, 
Laid his hand upon the stars and said: "Enough, 

let there be light." 

And from off the eyes of man the scales fell slowly 

one by one. 
Till he lifted up his drooping sight and gazed upon 

the sun. 

One by one the laws unfolding that Thou madest 

long ago. 
Ere the mountain fed the glacier or the rivers 

swelled with snow; 

Inch by inch, from everlasting unto everlasting sea, 
Man has trod the path of knowledge that shall lead 
him up to Thee. 

Science's revealed religion smites the rocks with 

mighty rod. 
And out flow the living waters of the ever living 

God. 

Thee whom long we worshipped blindly, duped by 

superstition's power. 
Science, like St. Paul on Mars Hill, preaches to us 

every hour. 

Gone the mediaeval terrors, gone the scholiastic night; 
Lo ! we look upon Thee newly ; lo ! we know Thee 
now aright. 



31 



God, that made the viewless atom and the ponder- 
ous planet forms, 

God that made the law of seasons and the flight of 
circled storms, 

God who wrote the myriad statutes that a myriad 

systems sway, 
Thee, and these, our Science seeks, revealing to us 

day by day. 

And as onward Science marches with his slow, re- 
sistless tread. 

Up the soul of man arises as one wakened from the 
dead ; 

Reaches out and claims the victory by long endeavor 

bought 
Liberty of human action, liberty of human thought. 

Liberty to know our fellows and to judge them as 

they are; 
Liberty to grasp all knowledge that shall come from 

near or far; 

Liberty to think and question whether truth be true 

or not; 
Liberty of discontentment with dead priestcraft for 

our lot ; 

Liberty to pierce the heavens with the logic of our 

schools ; 
Liberty to shatter boldly every paradise of fools; 

Till the stark and bloodless dogmas that have shack- 
led every soul, 

Shriveled by the fire of Science, into blank oblivion 
roll; 



32 



And man standing on the summit of the moonlike 

peak of snow, 
Sees the happy world at peace with God above and 

man below. 

And for this our new redemption, out of fruitful 

struggle born, 
Gladly, gladly do we praise Thee, Father, on this 

Christmas morn. 



33 



A SONG OF NEW YEAR'S EVE 

With flashing of foam on a wrinkled sea, 
And wisps of white in a clouded sky ; 

With shiver of snow on a bare-limb'd tree, 
With winds that skurry and birds that fly. 

With bells that toll by twos, by threes, 

Across the mead and down the leas, 
The old year lays him down to die. 

With skulls that crumble and bones that bleach 
On the ragged rocks of a mountain high ; 

With waves that thunder and smite the beach, 
And wrecks that low on the wet sands lie ; 

With ships that stagger and then go down, 

With men that struggle and gasp and drown, 
The old year lays him down to die. 

With women that weep and men that curse. 
With girls that sob and youths that sigh ; 

With waving plumes of the hungry hearse, 
With moans from lips that are hard and dry; 

With hollow words in a minster nave. 

With clods of earth by an open grave. 
The old year lays him down to die. 

Oh, day and night ! Oh, morn and noon ! 

Oh, wild, unending human cry. 
Oh, blood-red sun! Oh, pallid moon! 

Oh, mocking life! Oh, cruel lie! 
Shall all things now that draw life's breath 
Go reeling onward still to death? 

Shall all years lay them down and die? 



34 



With ripple of gold on a sunlit sea, 

With glitter of silver in clouds on high; 

With sparkle of snow on the strong brown tree, 
With winds that sing and birds that fly ; 

With bells that peal by twos, by threes, 

Across the mead and down the leas, 
The new year comes across the sky. 

With all glad things that smile and beckon, 
With all sweet things that live and die; 

With all good things that men can reckon. 
With all strong things that strength can try ; 

With hope and love and undreamed graces. 

With whispers low and warm embraces. 
The new year comes across the sky. 

Oh, deathless love, eternal youth! 

Oh, glad, triumphant human cry! 
Now God be praised for this one truth. 

Though all else be a gilded lie: 
When old things fade and old hopes fail, 
And old years, dead, lie stark and pale, 

The new years come across the sky. 



35 



MUSIC 



AN OVERTURE 
There was a silence. 

Out across its furthest unknown rim 

There fell a whispering of muffled drums, 

Even as one slant ray of purple dim 
Across the altar on a Sabbath comes. 

Then from the highest realms of rapt harmonic 
sound 
There came a voice of muted strings in one long 
breath, 
Full of a solemn yearning, sweet and so profound, 
It seemed the expiring sigh of music in its death. 

A simple melody of flute and reeds 
Flowed softly out across the trembling air. 
Full of a meaning delicate and rare — 
Some said a dying maiden told her beads. 

That sank. A single half-closed mellow horn 
Drew one long note like to the knell of morn ; 
Then once again that rapt harmonic sound 
Full of a yearning solemn and profound ; 
And then the muffled drums, in whispered throb. 
Went out to silence with one trembling sob. 

Black night, black night and sleep that are hovering 
o'er us. 
Shadows of death and glimmer of gloom that we 
hate. 
In the caverns of sound spread out in the depths be- 
fore us. 
Dark as the grave and deep as the portals of fate. 



39 



Full fifty bows leapt upward then 

Across full fifty strings, 
And smote them into life again 

Like fifty living things. 
Outspoken the cymbal's martial clang, 

Outpealed the brazen horn; 
And all the stricken silence rang 

With mastering sound new born. 

Pulses of love and passions of fire that are swelling 
Up to the lips from out of the bursting soul. 

Dreams of the Summer of youth that are too sweet 
for telling. 
Break in that thunder of sound beyond control. 

Then downward, as some fair and unknown star 

Goes reeling through the cloudless night, 
That storm of joy fell quickly from afar. 

And staid its mighty flight. 
Once more from realms of high harmonic sound 

There came a voice of muted strings. 
Full of a love and yearning all profound. 

And dear unspoken things. 

Then far across the furthest unknown rim 
Stole out the whispering of muffled drums, 

Even as one slant ray of purple dim 
Across the altar on a Sabbath comes. 



There was a silence. 



40 



MOZART 
Died, Dec. 5, 1791 

A singer paused upon a mountain place, 

On either side there spread a fruitful land ; 

In this the harvest wooed the reaper's hand, 
In that the spring unveiled her virgin grace. 
The ripened grain he blessed once with his face, 

The spring he welcomed as it met his ken ; 

Then closed his eyes and sang one grave "Amen.' 
And far beyond the azure deeps of space 
The sons of God put by their harps and bent 

To lift his spirit to the holy breast ; 

While one great Voice spake strong across the 
skies, 
And through the stars its echo came and went: 
"Lo ! this is he that hymned eternal rest 

For all the dead of all a world that dies." 

Dec. 5, 1891. 



41 



SCHUBERT 

Oh, Winter snow shall whirl and drift, 

And Spring shall kiss the mead and mere; 
And Summer days may follow swift 
Where all the lillies lean and lift, 
Till Autumn shadows chill and sear. 

Oh, far beyond the lambent west 

The moon shall mask her shining eye; 
But thou, blithe soul, forever blest, 
Shalt glad the world with thy bequest, 
The songs that live and shall not die. 

The theatre's gilded, shallow glare, 

The hum of jeweled vacancy. 
The tinsel pageant's fret and blare. 
The buskined stride, the tragic stare. 

Are not, oh happy heart, for thee. 

But thine the hearth and thine the fire. 

And thine the comrade, pipe, and bowl, 
The child, the wife, the heart's desire. 
The strings of God's great human lyre, 
Are thine, thou singer of the soul. 



42 



IN THE GALLERY 

Up, up, still soaring like the eternal breath 
Of the swift soul made free by might of death. 
Thou comest spiritlike, sublime and strong, 
Oh, godlike boon, sweet ministry of song. 

Up, up, to where we dumb and moveless are, 
Thou comest like a voice from some sweet star 
That floats forever o'er the trembling sea 
And fills the sky with silver melody. 

And they that sit below in silk and lace — 
Hath God loved them with any deeper grace? 
What gift has He upon their cold hearts laid, 
They in their purple and their gold arrayed ? 

Do they, Oh, Music, know thee, spirit of hope? 
Dost thou for them thy secret treasures ope? 
What good is theirs, if thou alone art not? 
Is Death not better, and the things that rot? 

They who sit in splendor and in light. 
Do they know thee or dream of thee aright? 
Or we that sit here in the darkness dumb — 
Is it to us thy throbbing whispers come ? 

Oh, spirit of invisible delight. 
Eternal Harmony! By God's dear sight 
We know thee — we, who sit and long ; 
Oh, deathless boon, sweet ministry of song. 



43 



THE SEVENTH SYMPHONY 

(An Experiment) 

Vivace. 

To the dance! 
To the dance! 
With the wine and lily and rose leaf spray ; 
Like the glance 
Of a lance, 
Let the light of love o'er us play. 
Now palms, and pansies in purple of June, 

Shall murmur and sway ; 
Now eyes as soft as the Orient moon 
Shall conquer and pray ; 

And life shall tremble and sob ; 
And death go mad that we rob; 
And the snow 
From the pulses shall go, 
And shall burst into burning and glow. 

To the dance! 

To the dance! 
With the wine and lily and rose leaf spray, 

Like the glance 

Of a lance. 
Let the light of love o'er us play. 

Allegretto. 

Shall death avail, love, 
Death cold and pale, love? 
Shall we now quail, love. 

We that are one? 
Here where we lave, love, 
In passion's wave, love, 
Is there a grave, love, 

Out of the sun? 



44 



Ah, do not weep, love; 
We two shall sleep, love. 
Wrapped in that deep, love, 
When life is run. 

Scherzo 

Then dance we, love, cheerily; 
Life that is ours let us drown it in wine ; 
Life that shall flame with our passion and shine. 
Strong as the burning 
Sun westward turning. 
Spent with yearning; 
Dance, merrily. 
Dance, cheerily ; 
Dance, love, for the life that is thine. 

Allegro Con Brio 

Oh, for a strong endeavor 
That should destroy forever 
All of the bars that sever 

Graves and breath! 
Then in the bright supernal. 
Or in the black infernal, 
Sweet love should be eternal. 

Like to death. 
Then with no room for sighing, 
Nothing to love denying, 
Shouldst thou, dear heart, be lying 

On my breast, 
As thou in dance art clinging. 
While death in life is ringing; 
Oh, that we, dead, were winging 

Toward yon west ! 



45 



RHINEGOLD 

Beneath the mystic winding stream 

The Rhinemaids warded well the gold; 

And, like dim voices in a dream, 
Their song a thrilling legend told : 

"He who molds a ring from this 
Shall rule the earth and air above; 

But first he must renounce the bliss 
And wondrous joy of woman's love." 

So ran the old delusive lay 

That set man's heart and brain at strife; 
But Love proclaimed a better way. 

For he is Lord of human life. 

First win the woman's priceless grace, 
Then weld the ring of virgin gold ; 

Upon her hand the circlet place: 

Then love is power; and both you hold. 



46 



PSYCHE 



AMOR TRIUMPHATOR 

I sometimes dream a sweet and sleepless dream 
Of world forgetfulness and clearer life. 
If I could set myself aside from strife, 

From drum-beats and the thousand things that seem 

To fill the world with struggle and with death, 
Throne in man's skull the graveyard worm, old 

Care, 
To gnaw her sightless channels of despair 

And blast young Hope with her unholy breath, — 

Then would I take myself away and lie 
Upon some cloud-encircled peak of snow, 
Beyond the cliffs where viewless eagles go, 

And sweep the embattled earth with placid eye. 

Thence could I pierce the soul of empty state, 
The curdled hopes, the crannied fears, the flood 
Of black desires that make the recreant blood 

Run darkling in the veins of iealous hate. 

There would I hold my thought in silent poise 
Above the roar of those who dare not think 
While they are grappled on the eternal brink, 

And read the riddle of a tired world's noise. 

But lo ! my peak stands yonder near the sun ; 

And I crowd on with those who make the crowd, 

And loiter but a time to speak aloud 
My feeble little dream ; and it is done. 



49 



Yea, I am one with death and lordly love ; 
For here is she who keeps my silly soul 
Under a sovereignty of sweet control — 

Within the very finger of her glove. 

Why, then let all the world go stark and mad ; 

I, too, will plunge me in the whirling strife ; 

Come, buffet me, ye billows of wild life! 
For that I love her I am wholly glad. 



50 



SILENCES 

The silences of night are less divine 

Than are perfect silences of love, 

When thou and I sit wordless in the gloom 

And gaze, not at each other, but away 

Into the plumbless depths between the stars. 

There dwells a silence not so rich as ours, 

And yet not poor. For there the waves of light 

Flow tremulous across infinity, 

In synchronous vibration star to star, 

And make of God's unbounded universe 

A finished arc of lucent harmony. 

But where we sit and look into the night 

There is a nobler harmony than this: 

A perfect concord of two human hearts, 

To which the assonance of yonder spheres 

Is but the deep, primordial counterpoint, 

The organ bass, perpetual, profound, 

Beneath a two-voiced canticle of peace. 

Which sings, as do the stars, in toneless song. 

Not heard, but felt through all the heart of space. 



51 



LOVE'S HARMONY 

If I shall sing to thee, wilt thou not listen ? 
If I let rhythmic whispers outward creep 
From where rapt fancy murmurs in her sleep, 

Shall they not cause thy drooping eye to glisten, 
Or make thy pulses leap? 

Wherefore is song, if not to make thee tremble 
With knowledge, round and living as the earth, 
Of that great love which gave the numbers birth? 

Let passion have its way ; do not dissemble ; 
Or what is singing worth ? 

Sing thou in silence, with my song agreeing; 
Sing in thy heart of love, for he is lord : 
Thus song shall have its infinite reward, 

And find in thy pure soul the perfect being 
Of absolute accord. 



52 



LOVE'S SILENCE 

"Sweet, shall I ask thee why thou art so still, 
Gazing afar into the deeps of space, 
With shadows of the twilight on thy face, 

And eyes that quick with dewy moisture fill? 

Why is thy laughter's mellow rippling rill 

Silent and dumb? What chrism of perfect grace 
Shall fall upon those lips and find a place 

To bid their accents on the dusk to thrill ? 

Why art thou voiceless, love? Ah, speak to mc 
With speech that ever into music grows." 

She turns her eyes, that hold me in their thrall. 

As dark and sweet as night upon the sea. 

Saying, while one swift look upon me glows, 
"Love is unutterable and is all." 



A SONG IN OCTOBER 

Oh, hear ye not a voice that comes a-slnging through 

the trees, 
Across the mead and down the dell, along the dying 

breeze ? 
And hear ye not the burden of its melancholy song. 
Upon the lingering winds of Autumn sadly borne 

along? 
"Home, shepherds; home, sheep; winter cometh 

near; 
Wither, flowers; fall, leaves; days will soon be 

drear." 

And hear ye not another voice a-sighing o'er the 

main. 
Across the surf, along the beach, a monody of pain ? 
Oh, tremble while ye listen to its melancholy song. 
Upon the lingering winds of Autumn sadly borne 

along: 
"Part, lovers; part, maids; winter cometh near: 
Sleep, kisses; die, love; life will soon be drear." 



54 



FROM AFAR 

Sweet, that I see thee when thy dimpled smile 
Breaks fresh across the silver misty morn, 
And when thy sunny eyes 
Shame all the sunny skies. 
And no rose lovely as thy lips is born — 
That is enough. 

Sweet, that I hear thee when thy mellow voice 
Floats down the twilight in half-whispered song, 
While every wren and thrush 
And all the robins hush, 
And listen like my silent heart, and long — 
That is enough. 

Sweet, that I dream of thee in holy night, 

When the tired world hath rocked itself to sleep, 
And when my yearning heart 
Lets day and care depart, 
And findeth rest on Love's unbroken deep — 
That is enough. 



55 



SLEEPING 

Sleep, little eyes; slip down dark fringes, 

Over the depths so wistful wise; 
And cover those changeful soft gray tinges 

Full of the sweetness of Autumn skies. 

Sleep, little mouth, and smile in sleeping 

Soft as the wind that floats from the South 
Who knows what trembling sighs are leaping 
Behind thy barriers closed, sweet mouth? 

But oh, little heart, sleep never, wake ever, 
And wait for the love that shall not die, 

That not even Death from thee shall sever: 

For whom will it bloom, little heart? 'Tis not I. 



BY THE SEA SHORE. 

Oh fall upon the yellow beach 

With kisses swift, with kisses strong; 

And to the sands that southward reach 
Give all the music of thy song. 

Oh sea, with lips that taste of brine. 

But not again from yonder shore 
Shall I look out upon thy deep; 

The gloom is growing evermore. 

The light of life has sunk to sleep — 

Her life, oh sea, that fled from mine. 



56 



LOVE THAT LIVETH 
I 

Roses are ever fair, 

So is love sweet ; 
Love and roses are rare, 

And life is like wind fleet; 
Life and roses are at love's feet 

II 

Love's feet are on the hearts of Kings ; 

Love's kisses are on the lips of death ; 
Love's songs are mute for him who sings 

Songs made alone of life and breath. 

Ill 

Love's song is strong 

Where death and life meet ; 
Love and death are long, : 

And life is like wind fleet: 
Death and life are at love's feet. 



ULTIMA THULE 

Oh, for a far and solitary isle. 

Wrapped round with muffled beat of shoreless 
seas ! 
Oh, for a spring-time with undying srnile, 

And spring songs among the budding trees! 
A cloudless twilight that shall never wane 

Behind the pulsing ocean's broad fair breast,^ 
And thoughts that silence shall the best explain, 

And love insatiable and a sleepless rest. 



57 



OLD LOVE 

What is young love worth, 
That burns and trembles 
With the pangs of birth? 

How is young love dear, 

When it dissembles 
In its new-born fear? 

How is young love rare, 

If only blushes 
Make its brow more fair? 

How is young love strong, 

If doubting hushes 
Oft its burst of song? 

Is not old love better. 

Girt with years 
As with an iron fetter? 

Is not old love stronger. 

Wet with tears 
As all the days grew longer? 

Love and I have grown 

With days and sorrow; 
Have we not, my own ? 

Love and I shall live 
So each to-morrow 
Has the more to give. 



58 



Young love grown old 

Still richer waxes; 
Old love is not cold : 

Nay, it is so great 

That life it taxes 
To bear the gifts of fate. 



59 



A BALLAD OF CONSTANCY 

A mermaid sat in a pearly shell 

Far, far away on the misty deep ; 
And she sang: "Ah, me! but I loved him wi 
Better than wave or wind can tell ; 
And why does he lie so low asleep, 
Far and away 
From night and day? 

Sorrow, weep for sorrow." 

"I smiled on him once with a wistful smile. 

And he sprang far over the ship's dark side. 
And clove the crested seas awhile; 
But now he lies in yon rocky aisle, 

And never he moveth, save with the tide. 
Far and away 
From night and day; 

Sorrow, weep for sorrow." 

A maiden sat by a barren shore 

Where broke the waves of a bitter sea. 
And she sang: "Ah! me! but I loved him more 
Than ever a man was loved before; 
And why does he not come back to me, 
Far and away 
From night and day? 

Sorrow, weep for sorrow." 

Then spake her mother in accents bold : 

"Now shame upon you that thus you weep 
He's false to his vows, his heart is cold, 
He's plighted himself to another's gold. 
Across and beyond the shining deep, 
Far and away 
From night and day." 

( Sorrow, weep for sorrow. ) 



60 



"Now, mother," she said, "you speak not well; 

Some day these words you'll sadly rue. 
He loved me more than heart can tell ; 
Somewhere hath rung his final knell : 
He must be dead — but never untrue — 
Far and away 
From night and day ; 
Sorrow, weep for sorrow." 

But forty fathoms beneath the tide, 

His fair hair tangled around his head, 
While the mermaid in her shallop cried, 
And the maiden wept by the bare seaside, 
He lay and smiled, both false and dead, 
Far and away 
From night and day; 

Sorrow, weep for sorrow. 



6i 



TO HER IN THE COUNTRY 

Round me the rumble and the thund'rous beat 

Of all a city swells and dies ; 
Round thee the holy, silent incense sweet 

Of perfect flowers and perfect skies. 
Round me the agony of daily strife 

Is waged for honor, gold and fame ; 
Round thee the halo of a country life, 

That fits thee like the music of thy name. 

Are we apart? Nay, love, I think not so; 

Our hearts beat strong across the space. 
No lands divide us long, my love, I know ; 

My soul will find its resting place. 
And yet the city's thund'rous, throbbing maze, 

And all the country's perfect skies 
Were one to me, could I a moment gaze 

Into the Summer of thy eyes. 



6a 



A SPRING SONG 

The Naiads wake in brook and billow. 

In mellow mere, in shallow sea ; 
The Dryads slip from oak and willow, 

Wooing the leaves from every tree. 
The seven-toned pipe of Pan is playing 

Music that a god should sing; 
The thrill of every bird is saying, 

"This is Spring." 

If I come and kneel before thee, 

Though I speak no faltered word, 
Shall the time be helpless o'er thee. 

And great Nature's song unheard ? 
Wilt thou not, sweet, comprehending 

What my silent hope would bring, 
Keep the glad refrain unending: 

"This is Spring?" 

So shall come the Summer blooming 

Of a life begun in snow; 
So shall end the Winter glooming 

So the perfect roses blow. 
And two hearts that shall not sever, 

E'en when Time's last flight shall wing. 
Still shall voice that song forever: 

"This is Spring!" 



63 



CARPE DIEM 

These days are ours, O Love, these days that shine 
With glitter of tear-tipped lashes, with glimmer of 
eyes, 
That murmur with lutes, and with bubble of blood- 
red wine. 
And music of lips that part for sighs. 

Mourn not for days that are gone beyond forgetting. 
Nor tremble for hours that may come with clouds 
and fears; 

Turn not thine eyes on the sun that hasteth setting; 
Love for to-day; think not of years. 

What is to-day that shall not be again on the mor- 
row? 
What is the grief that outlives our crowns of flow- 
ers? 
Into mine eyes look deep; there dwells no sorrow; 
O Love, these happy days are ours. 



^4 



A BALLAD OF NIGHT 

The sea shudders and the stars grow faint, 
Because mine eyes are dim with unshed tears ; 

My lips are tortured with a voiceless plaint, 
That throbs with all the pain of vanished years. 
Ah God, how sweet is love ! 

How shall I tell thee what my heart conceives? 

No name is known for this to human brain ; 
The wind may peal it through yon shaken leaves, 

Or lightning hurl it through the stricken rain. 
Ah God, how sweet is love! 

Across my lips the perfume of thy hair 

Is floating slowly like some old-time song. 

Dreams are dear, and all the world is fair; 
Night is swift and ah ! the day is long. 
Ah God, how sweet is love! 

But lo! I kiss thee ere the lip is cold, 
And wrap thee close while yet the heart is warm ; 

Can life dwindle or the earth grow old, 
Or souls tremble with the last alarm ! 
Ah God, how sweet is love! 

The moon sinketh and the day is red 
Along the hollow of the eastern skies ; 

And now for me the honey time is sped : 
The sunlight robs me of thy starry eyes. 
Ah God, how sweet is love! 



65 



ROSES 

Oh, rose asleep upon her breast, 
How happy dost thou lie ; 

Yet, e'en in that celestial rest, 
Ah, must thou die. 

Nay, if she bend her lips to thee 

A single kiss to give, 
Oh, there undying roses be ; 
Their touch is immortality. 

And thou shalt live. 



DIVINATION 

If Chloe laughs and carols catches 

Of a merry roundelay. 
If she trips across the patches 

Where the sunbeams flash and play, 
If her face is flushed and hot. 

And she stops my lips with flowers. 

While she dances through the hours ; 
If her eyes are clear and bright. 
Like white stars upon the night, 

Then I know she loves me not. 

But if Chloe starts not singing, 
If her voice she may not find, 

If her words will not be winging 
Cruel dartlets for her mind. 

If her cheeks in paleness dwell, 
While she tears in bits her roses. 
Breathing short in starts and closes; 

If her eyes are moist and clouded. 

Like blue seas in rain enshrouded, 
Then I know she loves me well. 



66 



DREAMS AND FANCIES 



IN CHAINS 

Oh, for a clear and perfect use of pen ! 

Not for the trade of words in measured ink, 
Nor on the lip of pale starvation's brink 

To write: "Give us our daily bread, Amen ;" 

But to fling wide the doors of hope again, 

And write as when youth's star dreamed not to 

«;ink 
Beyond the sweet horizon's verge; to think 

Without the count of cost, as I thought then ! 
I'd take this English tongue I love so well, 
And mining out its gold in reverent fear, 
Round well the treasure in a rhythmic sum, 

And mold from it a mighty Saxon bell 

To toll one peal into the great world's ear, 
And then be silent and forever dumb. 



ASPIRATION 

A fiery soul set forth across the day, 

From out the west beyond the blood-red sun. 

And winged in arcs of light its eager way 
Beyond the silence where was night begun. 

And lo! upon the summit of a star. 

That marked the gateway of the universe. 

The word of God set up an iron bar, 

And said: "No further, or abide the curse." 

The pinioned soul lay prone upon the west 

And moaned, "'Twere heaven to break yon azure 

spell ; 
But here to stay with question-tortured breast 
Thro' all eternity — ah, this is hell!" 



69 



THE GATE OF SLEEP 

Lying between the dusk and dawn of night, 
Upon the borders of the sea of sleep, 

Lo, oft there cometh in the fading light 
The break of surges in the eternal deep. 

The soul of me swims out across the space 

That yawns between the pulse of life and death ; 

The senses fail ; the spirit seeks its place 

With those that dwell beyond the gates of breath. 

A touch, a start ; the passing power is broken ; 

The soul is moveless midway in its flight -, 
The body claims it, and there is no token 

Brought from out that haven of the night. 

If I could hold the light that on me grows 
When o'er the brink of sleep my spirit speeds, 

Then could I voice the mystery that flows 

Twixt life and death, 'tween truth and human 
creeds. 

But lo ! upon the sacred door of sleep 
There is a graven law of import high : 

"He who would sound the secrets of this deep 
Must lay him down in solitude to die." 



70 



BEFORE DAWN 

The round lustre of the white-faced moon 
Makes wan the filaments of scattered cloud ; 
The stars tremble ; Venus, no more proud, 
Pales westward, for the dawn comes soon. 

The heavens are peopled with inchoate forms, 
Mystic, fancy-clad, uncertain, swift. 
Flying silent o'er each star-sown rift, 

And vanishing as fast as Summer storms. 

The lissome branches flaunt against the sky 
As if some wood-witch orgy were in course ; 
Aye, Pan is singing, ribald-voiced and hoarse. 

Beneath the gloom away from human eye. 

Oh, could I see the horn'd and curly god. 

Then I should see the wood nymphs slim and fair. 
Who dance upon the finger-tips of air. 

And flash their beauty at his cynic nod. 

Perchance some dryad, deep-eyed, round, and sweet, 
Would deem a mortal worthy of her wiles; 
Ah me, she would not bare herself of smiles 

Before I laid my heart beneath her feet. 

But no ; the east is silvered low and high ; 

There is no dance, there is no god nor maid ; 

The boughs are prim, the wood is cold and staid ; 
There are no shapes against the morning sky. 



71 



TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

Without his permission. 

Oh Robert Louis, will you ever know 

What debt to you some weary mortals owe ? 

Tired of the flippant style that sneers and mocks, 

Disgusted with the prurient page that shocks, 

Aweary of a hollow, sensuous age. 

One turns with rapture to your spotless page. 

Here is a pure, inspiring atmosphere, 

That healthy souls can enter without fear. 

You make the world more fair, the sky more blue; 

Drop down enchanted vales in your canoe; 

Or in delightful speculation lost, 

Ascend the mountains glittering with frost, 

With pipe and pack and philosophic mien. 

And that dear gem of beasts, your Modestine. 

For you alike the athlete and the priest 

Throw wide their doors and on good nature feast. 

No wonder, for j^our word to them is new ; 

You teach them how the common earth to view ; 

You find philosophy in tree and flower; 

In every limpid stream and lucent shower 

Some simple homily on Nature's rules: 

God knows it's better than the dust of schools. 

Upon your page no shop-worn English stands, 

Soiled with the touch of sordid hucksters' hands; 

Your words are clean, your prose as sweet and 

strong, 
As Chaucer's honest verse or Spenser's song, 
So in these days when readers are beguiled 
With English prose and thought alike defiled. 
With taste impure, philosophy untrue. 
Oh Robert Louis, thank the Lord for you ! 

Nov. 26, 1887. 



72 



TO A CLOVER BLOSSOM 

Here 'mid an infinitude of things 

I cannot turn my face away from thee ; 
Else are mine eyes sore smitten by the sea 

Beating the cold, hard sand with tireless wings. 

Thou hidest here, thou fairest of the Spring's 
Descendants, perfect in thy symmetry, 

Wooed in the Summer by the yellow bee. 

Who all the day his love lorn ditty sings. 

Ah, heed him not, dear blossom ; he is not 
An honest hearted swain : he'll sip thy sweets 
Then fillip thee a kiss upon thy face. 

And parting, come no more to share thy lot. 

But sweet blush, I would lie here at thy feet. 
And feed my soul forever on thy grace. 



MORNING 

Oh fair, sweet mother of the southern breeze, 
Celestial Morning, lo, thou dost awake! 
And garments of eternal light dost take, 

And swift thy scented breath comes o'er the trees. 

The pink rose garlands fall down to thy knees. 
And there, all glittering with dew, they shake 
Like wavelets on some shining silver lake, 

'Neath thy blue eye that smiles across the seas. 

And from thy purple chalice pouring flowers 
Upon the level streams and rolling lands. 
Across the rich horizon thou dost fly. 

Arousing all the laughing little Hours, 
That softly slip away in broken bands 
Beneath the moonless and the starless sky. 



73 



IN THE MOUNTAINS 

These are thine altars, Lord, these hills of thine, 
Whereon the sun lights sacrificial blaze 
When night is done, and on the rocky ways 

Dawn comes to make the earth a place divine. 

Here is thy vast, inviolable shrine, 
Thy temple of innumerable days 
Fashioned and filled with glory's wide displays, 

And girt about with majesty divine. 

The peaks reach up toward heaven ; all else recedes. 
The woods bow down their heads in silent awe ; 
And in this mighty tablet's sculptured grace, 

The heart of man thy primal mandate reads: 
For here thou did'st proclaim thy graven law, 
And here did Moses meet thee face to face. 



SICK IN THE SPRING 

Sick in the body and sore at heart, 

I lie where I see the fields of green, 
The swaying boughs that meet and part. 

The waves that ruffle the lake's wide sheen. 
And the breath of Spring on meadow blows, 

On mossy glen and dancing mere: 
For Spring beyond my window grows, 

But ah for me! It comes not here. 

When Winter's silent robe of white 

Is spread once more across the earth, 
And through the spaces of the night 

The bells shall peal the new year's birth. 
Perchance afar from wood and wold. 

Somewhere beyond the starlight clear. 
Spring will at last for me unfold ; 

But ah for me ! It comes not here. 



74 



GRANT 

Though Sleep hold thee, yet art thou, sleeping. 

Greater than life; 
Though there be sorrow, yet is the weeping 

Better than strife. 

Strife was all thine in days that are hidden. 

Slayer of strife; 
Now Death conquers thee, yet is he bidden 

To yield to thy life. 

We that are left shall have naught but the sorrow, 

The pain, and the tears; 
Thou that art gone hast left for to-morrow 

The fruit of thy years. 

Sleep well ! Sleep, for the world will not grudge to 
thee 

What thou hast won ; 
Time, that is just, will justly adjudge to thee 

All thou hast done. 

Sleep well ! Sleep, for while thou art sleeping. 

Hands on thy breast, 
God and His armies thy name will be keeping 

Sacs^'d in rest. 



75 



A POET'S LAST BOOK 

The garnered words are sweet upon the page ; 

The ripened thought is bound in sheaf of song; 
Of springtide sowing this the golden gagt, 

A harvest where each gathered blade is strong. 

O husbandman of dear and happy dreams, 
Thy summer ends beneath the reaper's knife ; 

But every grain in all these yellow gleams 
Enshrines a germ of beauty and of life. 



TENNYSON 

Oh, soul that grew too great for mortal chains, 
And lived beyond the usage of your day, 
New-winged with perfect light, you fled away 
Beyond the verge of all the starry plains. 
Beyond the dome of dreams, beyond the pains 
And all the fetters of unquiet clay. 
To where the lyres of hope immortal play. 
Tears — they are ours, and hollow grief remains. 
Oh, you who sang alone, who were the last 
Of all the gods of song ; who voiced the heart 
Of credent promise, not of skeptic fears; 
You sleep not in the cradle of the past, 
Nor from the choir with silent lips depart. 
But wake the harp eternal with your peers. 



76 



ON SOME FORGOTTEN POEMS 

Dead rhymes are here that no man comes to read ; 

Dead as the flowers that robed the maiden spring 
To wed with summer, when the streams were freed, 

And all the birds began to nest and sing. 

If some one plucked the flowers and laid them by 
Between the prim white pages that I hold, 

The crushed and faded leaves would dun the eye. 
And leave the yearning heart uncheered and cold. 

But sweeter flowers of rhyme, amid the gloom 
And silent dust of all the silent shelves, 

You keep your glory and your primal bloom, 
And live, if not for others, for yourselves. 

And when I chance to open wide the page, 
Behold, your beauty breaks upon the earth; 

And all the splendor of a buried age 
Is born again with glad immortal birth. 

And, happy, I may hear the master-hand 

Sweep down the lyre and wake each vibrant chord, 

That swells with glory of a sweeter land, 

Where life was hope, and love alone was lord. 

So let the cover close, the page grow gray 
Amid the dust where no eye comes to see ; 

My heart alone the song shall hold and sway — 
The poet's dream shall wake a world for me. 



77 



A WISH 

For a Little Boy. 

Touched with the mystic chrism of unseen hands, 
Girt round with hope as with the light of day, 
May he go forth to walk his future way 

Across the ripening gold of fruitful lands, 

Unto the shore of perfect silver sands, 

Where Time shall falter, crumble and decay; 
And all the air shall tremble with the sprav 

Of waves eternal breaking on the strands. 

There may he lay his burden down and rest; 

There may his Winter dawn again to Spring; 
And while the sun goes down the crimson west. 

And day shall glide away on wistful wing. 
Eternal love float o'er the purple breast 

Of that eternal sea, and crown him king. 

FOR A CLASS REUNION 
Princeton, 1876 — 1891. 

We are as figures on a monster dial. 

The hands of Time go slowly round and round; 
At each circle, without let or trial, 

Some figures always vanish, and the ground 
Whereon they stood is pallid, empty white, 
Void as the space upon the Summer night 

Whence fled a star into the deeps profound. 

So one by one shall go, and old Time's hand 
Shall sweep the circle till not one shall stand ; 
But yet there is a triumph of the right : 
We leave behind the dial — spotless white. 



78 



THE SEA 



A SONG OF THE SEA 

O sing of the sea ! O sing of the sea ! 

The world and the sun of it all for me : 

Where the salt spray strikes the smile of my lips, 

And down from the hair to the feet of me drips; 

While the east wind smites me across the face, 

And the waves flash past in a thundering race. 

Sing of the sea! O sing of the sea! 

The wealth and the health of it all for me. 

If ever the Summer comes back again, 
And I stand new-crowned 'mid the sons of men, 
I'll hurl to the dogs all books and plays, 
All poets and poems of dream-spawned days. 
To lie in the sun on the sloping deck. 
Wrapped close by the spray from heels to neck. 
Made strong with the blood of the mad, wide sea: 
The wealth and the health of it all for me. 

Throw wide thine arms, O mother of mine ; 
Throw wide wet arms for this child of thine: 
He grows too faint on the pale, dull shore 
With hunger and thirst for thee evermore. 
Save kisses for me, and a great white sail, 
To wrap me in love that shall never fail : 
O well-loved sea ! O faithful sea ! 
The soul and the body of thee for me, 



8i 



SEA MELODIES 

Aloft and alow in the glimmer and glow of stars, 
Across and along the path of the new moon creep- 
ing, 

The dawn of the crescent sails on the dusk of spars 
Leans over to kiss the lips of the ocean sleeping. 

The wind that touches the secret pulsing places 
Aloft and alow on those perfect breasts of snow, 

Is crooning across the midnight's peaceful spaces 
A song that came out of chaos through time to 
grow. 

And under the bow the lucent ripples break 

In shapes that are fair, in rhythm that is sweet be- 
yond measure; 
Till the heart is full and no more its thirst can slake 
In the fathomless fountains of joy where the sea 
makes pleasure. 

Afar where the waves and the sky together are grow- 
ing, 
Out of the jaws of night with muttering roar. 
Comes a tremulous thunder, a sound as of sea kine 
lowing: 
The voice of the deep that is sullenly smiting the 
shore. 

Adown from the measureless mountain of sails above. 
Where the starlight falters and melts and is too 
faint to glisten, 
A sailor lad murmurs an old-world ballad of love; 
And the sea and my heart are silent and tremble 
and listen. 



82 



THALASSA 

O best beloved, give me of thy rest! 
If I might lay my worn and aching frame 
Along the hollow of thy mighty hand, 
Where now thy pliant fingers grip the land, 
Or feel the snow-white summits of thy breast — 
Fair as the three-formed huntress maiden's fame — 
Rock slow beneath me, slow and deep and strong, 
Keeping the rythm of that old cradle-song 
The morning stars sang to the infant world. 
Then would the lids of sleep drop down unfurled. 
And I should slumber in enchanted ease 
Between thy billowy infinities. 
As on the airy bosom of the west 
Sleeps yonder star, a nursling of the skies. 
Thalassa! thou art the incarnate rest; 
In thy great heart immortal stillness lies. 



83 



A SEA SONG OF OLD TIME 

We ride head to wind and the breeze whistles free, 

The land is to windward, the sea's on our lee. 

Man the bars and heave taut, off stoppers, heave 

round ! 
Clear the jib, port your helm ; now the anchor breaks 

ground. 

Lay aloft, you sail loosers! Man halliard and sheet! 
There's nothing can catch our fair lady so fleet. 
We're bound for the uttermost rim of the day ; 
Lay down from aloft ! Now sheet home, hoist away ! 

We are running off soundings, the wind hauls abeam ; 
Along the horizon there comes a white gleam. 
We'll take off the stu'nsails and still onward spin : 
So lower away, lads! Haul down and rig in! 

The wind comes ahead and the jib falls aback; 
Now ready about ! 'Tis the order to tack. 
Hard-a-lee ! From the quarter-deck echoes the call : 
It's raise tacks and sheets! Haul taut! Mainsail 
haul! 

Up yonder to windward the clouds darkly frown ; 
Man clewlines and buntlines! Look lively! Clew 

down! 
The gale is upon us with riot and rout ; 
'Loft topmen ! Come, cheer'ly ! Trice up and lay out ! 

At last to the southward the swift gale has whirled. 
Once more to fair freezes our sails are unfurled ; 
At the masthead the lookout swings wide to and fro. 
Till the silence is rent with the warning, "Sail ho!" 



84 



Then hark! the sharp beat of the hollow-voiced 

drum; 
To quarters ! See yonder, the enemy's come. 
Our colors break out. Oh, the foe woe betide ! 
To quarters! Now silence! Cast loose and provide! 

Run in, serve and sponge ! Load, run out, and prime ! 
Now point, ready, fire! There are smoke, blood, and 

grime. 
But down come her colors ; she yields to our pluck ; 
Raise cheer upon cheer ! She is ours ! She has struck ! 



85 



IN LIGHTER MOOD 



LofC. 



TO PYRRHA 
Horace, Ode V, Book I. 

What slender youth with flaxen hair 
Is he that now thou smilest on, 
O Pyrrha? Are his senses gone. 

To hope thy mood is always fair? 

My faith! When o'er thy lips and eyes 
The lightning smile of mirthful scorn, 
That comes so soon, is swiftly born, 

He'll think the sun has left the skies. 

He has my pity, hapless youth. 
Who knows thee not as other men ; 
Alas, poor lad ! He'll learn and then 

He'll see the gulf 'twixt thee and truth. 

I know thee! I have saved my neck 

From death by drowning in love's deep, 
And smiling Neptune long will keep 

His memory of my stranded wreck. 



89 



CENTRAL PARK IN SUMMER 

Sequestered in a rocky nave, 

I watch the sunlight slowly creeping 
Along the gray and mottled pave, 

Where summer shadows lie a-sleeping. 

Across a dark and mossy rock 

A shallow streamlet spray is casting; 

But from the west there comes the shock 
Of dull, prosaic, dusty blasting. 

Anon I hear the rumbling tire 

Of some bedecked and festal carriage ; 

My fancy hears the droning choir 
And hopes it was a pretty marriage. 

But all in vain I try to think 
That I am in some forest heaven, 

Upon a mountain's misty brink. 

Ah! dreams will lag at thirty-seven. 

Imagination, swift and vain. 

Like yonder bee flits idly by me; 

I watch the shadows wax and wane, 
And wish that she would stop to try me. 

Despite your artful dells and bowers. 

Dear Central Park, ah! more's the pity. 

Still undeceived I count the hours, 
And know that I am in the city. 



90 



ON A HYMN BOOK 

Old hymn book, sure I thought Id lost you 
In the days now long gone by ; 

I'd forgotten where I tossed you — 
Gracious! how I sigh. 

In the church a thin partition 

Stood between her pew and mine ; 

And her pious, sweet contrition 
Struck me as divine. 

Yes, remarkably entrancing 

Was she in her sable furs ; 
And my eyes were always glancing 

Up, old book, to hers. 

Bless you, very well she knew it. 
And I'm sure she liked it, too; 

And she whispered, "Please don't do it," 
But her eyes said, "Do." 

How to speak, to tell my passion? 

How to make her think me true? 
Love soon found a curious fashion. 

For he spoke through you. 

How I used to search your pages 
For the words I wished to say; 

And received my labor's wages 
Every Sabbath day. 

Ah, how sweet it was to hand her 

You with lines I'd marked when found ! 

And how well I'd understand her 
When she blushed and frowned. 



91 



And one day, old book, you wriggled 
From my hand and rattling fell 

Upon the floor; and she — she giggled, 
Did Miss Isabel. 

Then when next we met out walking, 

I was told in tearful tones 
How she'd got a dreadful talking 

From the Reverend Jones. 

Ah me, no man could resist her 
In those sweet and buried years; 

Yes, I think — I think I kissed her, 
Just to dry her tears. 

Jones I gave a good round chaffing, 
Called his sermons dry as bones ; 

Soon fair Isabel was laughing — 
Said she hated Jones. 

It was after that I lost you. 

For I needed you no more ; 
Somewhere, anywhere I tossed you 

On a closet floor. 

Reverend Samuel still preaches; 

Isabel her past atones; 
In his Sunday school she teaches — 

Mrs. Samuel Jones. 



92 



PALMISTRY 

Oh, give me, Eve, that lily hand — 

Nay, start not with that sudden glow — 

See, palmistry I understand ; 
I'll read these lines before I go. 

This head line's full and broad and long; 

I know by that to thought you're wed, 
And carry culture rich and strong 

Within that graceful, gold-crown'd head. 

This line of life is straight and deep : 
By that I know your future's fair ; 

Some happiness shall wake from sleep 
To light your life with blessings rare. 

This heart line is so true — ah, well. 
One knows that, looking in your face; 

And in your eyes that truly tell 

How rich the heart must be in grace. 

Nay, more I dare not tell, I vow ; 

I can't — perhaps you may divine — 
But don't you think, pray tell me now, 

Your hand fits very well in mine ? 



93 



TO A BOOK AND A MAID 

Since now thy binding is so fair, 
I know not if 'twould be a gain 

To search thy page for fancies rare, 
And mayhap find my labor vain ; 

For Lortic bound thee in his prime: 

God knows what poet writ the rhyme. 

So maiden with the classic face, 

And Gallic costume deftly wrought, 

I'll gaze upon thy outward grace, 
Nor seek to read thy inner thought ; 

For Felix robed thee: praise his art! 

Lord knows what craftsman made thy heart. 



94 



GOOD ROBIN SPRING 

A robin sat upon a limb 

And piped a merry roundelay, 

Across the frozen lakelet's rim, 
Beyond the shadows of the day. 

A blue bird shivered in the cold, 

And cried, "Now wherefore came we here? 
The winter hath not yet grown old ; 

It is not yet the spring of year." 

The robin laughed with might and main, 
And sang anew with clarion voice: 

"Who cares for snow? Who cares for rain ? 
All hail the spring! Come, friend, rejoice." 

"The winter blast is rude and chill," 
The bluebird said; "it chains my wing; 

The ice is on the willowed rill. 

The earth is bare; it is not spring." 

The robin laughed, began to dance. 
And louder still he strove to sing; 

The bluebird looked at him askance 
As forth he carolled : "I am Spring." 

"Beshrew thee for an arrant fool," 
The bluebird said; "I tell thee nay! 

But since thou speakest without rule. 
Stay here and freeze. I'll go and pray." 

The robin laughed : "Thy tongue is tart ; 

But now thou shalt this true thing hear: 
Who hath a springtime in his heart 

Shall find no winter all the year." 



95 



